Category Archives: Crazy
I changed the theme. I think it’s a push for me to start writing again.
I’m also going to write really honestly.
Here are some truths.
I miss The Girl. I am pretty sure she knows this. I’ve never stopped loving her, though I fear her intensely because at one time, she had the power, and used it to try and hurt me. It worked. I’d love to have a relationship with her, but I also fear it. Trust and all.
I am moving on in life after so many losses, but in all honesty if I die today, I am pretty OK with that. I don’t think I am courting death, but maybe I am. I’m not going to the doctor and I have some pretty serious things going on with my body. Do I ignore it longer and go till I drop, or do I go to the doctor?
I’m not really into more of the same. I have kind of had enough of the loss.
I am probably more closed off than ever, because to let anyone in that close would mean to trust, and I am very, very, very careful about who I hand actual trust to.
On the other side, I know the things I have experienced, seen and felt, to be true. It’s just that life hit me so hard I fell off the path. I’ve not gone back to that same hateful person, but there is this wall of protection around me and when you live like that, you aren’t really living at all. You’re sitting around, waiting for it to be done. My life has felt like the last act, of a bad play, that will not fucking end.
But still I am waiting. I don’t know for what, but I am waiting.
I’m thinking I know what I personally need to do, but I have procrastinated because to jump back into it means work and I know that with so much hidden emotion and denied feeling, it’s going to be heavy. It can’t be any heavier than keeping all this shit inside me, can it?
There are things I am totally happy about also.
I love my little apartment. I love that the things I do in my life, are mine. I do them when I want and no one criticizes me, tells me I am wrong, disapproves, or hits me.
I love my few friends I have kept. These are the people I trust and am comfortable with.
Yesterday, I read something I wrote a few moths before the stroke. How odd. As things were getting better and I was happy because of Mr. Yummy, my move, my job, my soaring spiritual awakening, there was a point I admitted I feared what was coming. In all honesty I seriously thought The Girl was about to make an appearance and I wasn’t sure I could do it. That would have been so much easier than losing Mel, Mr. Yummy and Arie. All within a short time span. Back to back. It felt so cruel. it made me ask if I was a good person? I sort of began to doubt my value. I forgot I am what I am and deserve what I deserve, as do you.
Yesterday was one year since you let out your final breath as you arrived at the end of your journey.
What have I learned since then?
I realize that in a way, I’ve sort of grown up a bit. All those fears and issues I would have with life, you know the ones that we would always come back to in conversation, have had to be dealt with on my own. I didn’t have the safety net of you; the one person I could say anything to.
At first it was chest grabbing and crushing. I’d feel the panic start and that buzzing cycle that runs through an ever thinking brain, full of “what-ifs”. I have sort of learned over the last year that when I can’t reach out to you, I won’t explode. My world won’t explode but, I’ve had to resolve MY issues, on my own. That, or suffer the consequences of the cycle of obsessive thinking.
Over time, I’m learning to actually walk the rope of life on my own. Some days it is hard, other days, “I got this, girl.” Always though, I miss you and am grateful for you. Regardless of every thing you did and didn’t do to yourself, my hurt, anger, sadness…you have taught and continue to teach me much. I know I’ll never have a fill in for you, but I will always be a better friend, because of us.
I don’t feel guilty anymore for how I feel about your kids. They are mine now. We will always have a bond because of you and I will always be a tie to you, with them. I’m pretty sure you would be OK with that. Living, and watching your children grow and live, will honor you.. I will never be you to them, but I am Auntie and I will there when they need a mom figure to turn to.
The plus one day…
I woke up this morning, went out back to smoke in the frosty darkness. I thought:
So I, am 1 today. One year ago today I woke up to live without you holding my hand. I’ve been doing it one my own for a year and a day now. I’m pretty sure I am going to make it. It does feel like it will be ever so much longer without you here. I miss your laugh and you quick witted, cutting humor. I miss your love, though I know it is still there following me, as mine still does you. It’s the loss of physical you. It’s made me feel so selfish because all of this grief has been about me. My sadness. My loss. My feelings. Me, me me.
I still cry, just not as often. I just went to get a tissue to wipe my eyes and saw your ashes in the slender vile. I had taken them out the other night because I was debating them taking you with me on the one year day; to have you close to me. Instead I left you here. When I saw the vile I began to really cry. Holding the vile close to try and hug what I have left of what physically held your beautiful soul and then tucking you back in my safety place.
I also realize that everyday, the randomness of death touches someone. If you are lost, wandering, not knowing how to deal with your grief and reading this… I am so sorry for your loss. There is nothing I can say to you to make anything make sense, or stop hurting, but I do understand grief, and I am sorry you are here. My only words I can even attempt to share, the words I hang onto in the darkest moments are that Love…never dies. Physically, it changes how you live it, but it never dies, because it’s pure energy. I know that Melissa’s energy went back to beginning so it didn’t just die. It absorbed back into where it originated from. I originated from this place, and so did you. I just haven’t always recognized the moments that it still touches me, but a few times I have. Those little moments keep me going.
So, one year, plus one day. I still love you.
I woke up this morning, feeling pretty good. On a scale of one to ten I was about a 4, which as of late, is very, VERY good.
I was laying in Mr. Yummy’s bed, slowly coming to. I heard my text notification, covered my head with the pillow and went back to the sleepier side of the pillow for a few minutes. Checked my text, woke up and realized that was the first time, since I got the flu a few months ago, that I woke up to something other than the intense itch.
I smiled inside.
Mr. Yummy, on the other hand has not been sleeping well. The itch is worse at night. He’s gotten really quiet and well, that’s scared me. I feel SO bad. This is not something I wanted to happen to him. I AM the cause of his intense itch.
Night before last, I did not take an antihistamine and I was up three times. I noticed that he was not sleeping, and was not in his bed with me. I felt really bad about that all day at work, so last night I again offered him a Zyrtec. This time, he slept a little better, and I was aware of him next to me. I was hopeful since we treated the same day, that he woke this morning with a little relief. He said he slept better but that it wasn’t getting better. He also said it wasn’t getting worse. That’s a YAY! But the fact he is going through this at all is killing me inside. ( I know, look at all the negative wording I am using.)
I was out of icky stick tubes and wanted to smoke so because I was suddenly SO much more angry at Melissa. I didn’t say anything, just got in my car and went to the smoke store. I got up to the highway and was getting ready to make my left, when I heard myself
say start screaming, “Well, I could drive my car into a brick wall, but then I’D HAVE TO SEE MELISSA AND I DON”T WANT TO SEE THAT FUCKING BITCH YET!!! By now, I’m on the highway accelerating, but apparently, I had more to scream. “YOU FUCKING BITCH!!! I FUCKING HATE YOU! IT WASN’T ENOUGH TO FUCK UP YOUR OWN KID’S LIVES, BUT YOU HAD TO FUCK UP MINE AND NOW MR. YUMMY’S LIVES TOO?!?!?!” Then this primal screaming just started coming out of me.
It was a strange moment. As I was driving home, I heard myself utter, “Boy, that felt good.”
When I got here, the motorcycle was out and Mr. Yummy was coming out of the motorcycle hut. I didn’t say anything to him, I didn’t look at him, I just headed straight into the house. I was still angry and I am really upset that he has scabies. I don’t want to read more into his silence than there is because he went out of his way Wednesday night to tell me he has feelings for me. He left, I paced, and screamed, smoked, started making coffee and suddenly got scared at what I heard myself say in my car as I found myself alone in Mr. Yummy’s house, with all his rifles and handguns.
I picked up my phone and called 1-800-273-8255 (Thanks Google). I don’t know how long I talked to Karen, but it helped. I then text a friend. I asked him to call me when he was able, he did. We talked at length.
I’m still fucked up, but I feel like the wind up airplane rubber band that just released so, I am writing…because that’s what I do when I need to calm, breathe, think, flow and release. Then I am going to take an Epsom salt bath, to try to draw out some of the literal shit these fucking parasites have left inside my body. Before the bath though, I am going to try this recipe for Crazy Coffee that my friend text me. The only coconut oil that I have at the moment though, is infused.
I’ve never in my life heard the woman who was in my car this morning and she scared me.
I get to work about an hour early, almost every day. If I don’t leave at the ass-crack of dawn, I miss the window of decent travel time and my commute doubles. I would rather sit at work, in my car and play games on my phone, set up a playlist, or just Facebook, rather than be in the commute from hell.
This morning was no different in routine than any other morning, other than when my production manager arrived to unlock, and I got out of my car to go in, I got instantly light-headed, I started hearing a “pulsing” and my legs became like rubber, with each step getting harder and harder to make, they were so heavy and out of control. I got to the edge of the building and held myself up. Got inside, got to a table and held myself up, clocked in and got to the break-room where I just sat and shook. My PM came around the corner, said good morning, then immediately asked what was wrong.
I told her, she replied that we are slow enough if I want to leave, I can. I was crying, she just kind of let me ramble, “I’ve been sick, my skin is either erupting in hives or psoriasis, I’m trying to deal with the fact my best friend was a drug addict and I had no clue, and what just happened scared the shit out of me. I just want my life back!”
I decided to stay and finish my list, then leave. As I was working it dawned on me that I always thought of Mel as the smart one, the strong one, the capable one. Well, taking so many drugs, the doctors are saying this is what caused the stroke, wasn’t smart. It wasn’t the strong thing to do and well, I am sure it was a major fuck up on her part. I just sat there thinking, “But YOU were supposed to be the strong one! I’m not sure if I qualify to be the strong one, the one who didn’t make choices that killed me.” But here I am, sad, trying to hide it, itching like crazy, and talking and sobbing in my sleep because I am terrified to let Mr. Yummy see my real emotion.
I just wanted to go to my spot on the beach and yell at her, “FUCK YOU BITCH!!! What were you thinking and did you have any clue that dieing would fuck so many people (me) up?!?! Would it have mattered? What the fuck were you doing and how did you think you could just push and push till your mother-fucking body couldn’t and wouldn’t take any more?” I bet you let out a giant, “Oh shit, I fucked up!”
How do I keep loving you and hating what you did at the same time? I’m so ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY,ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY,ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY. ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY,ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY!
I have to figure out how to have the conversation with the kids about things they are going to start hearing about their mother, the drug addict. If they weren’t pissed off before, they certainly will be now. Hearing people say this about their mother won’t be fun and I know the anger will be directed at who is saying it and not at their mother for doing drugs.
She doesn’t get permission to destroy me, FUCK THAT. I’ve worked too god damned hard to crawl out of the hole of negativity and hate to crawl back into it, but my hate garden has already been watered and now I need to fucking weed it as fast as I can so I don’t fall back down that dark hole.
All the “fighting” she did to keep her kids away from their dads was for nothing, because they are all split up and with different people now. Is that what you were aiming for Melissa?
I wish she would just take the pain and go away, leaving me with my pleasant memories, and feelings of love. Right now, all I can muster is “Fuck you, you thoughtless, selfish lying Bitch!” Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel good, because really, I loved her like no other and THAT is why I hurt. She is gone, and I haven’t moved into the grateful for the time and memories yet. Instead, I am having panic attacks and falling apart at the seams.